R. Morris: A Vengeful Longing

For a moment, he seemed not to recognise Virginsky, even to be affronted by his presence, although he had just that moment invited him to enter with a lethargic ‘In.’ A fat black fly buzzed close to Virginsky’s face as he entered. Porfiry Petrovich drew sternly on his cigarette, before his face wrinkled with delight and warmth around the eyes.

‘My dear. . Pavel Pavlovich!’ Porfiry crossed the room, his short legs moving quickly. He paused to stub out the cigarette in the crystal ashtray on his desk, then took Virginsky’s hand in both of his own. ‘You must forgive me. This heat, and the smell. . it puts me in the foulest of moods. I had forgotten you were coming. But my, let me look at you! You look well. Indeed, you do!’

‘Thank you.’ Virginsky bowed his head, then lifted it quickly as if remembering himself. He looked Porfiry in the eye almost defiantly.

‘Come in! Sit down! Let us chat!’ Porfiry winced as he perched on the edge of his desk. It was a difficult manoeuvre for him to pull off without appearing comical again. He seemed precarious there, one leg dangling short of the floor. ‘I was delighted to receive the letter from your father, for a number of reasons.’

This was what Virginsky had been waiting for. ‘It’s not what you think.’ He sat stiffly on the sofa — government-issue, upholstered in brown artificial leather — and looked beyond Porfiry at the cracked plaster of the wall. The fly, or perhaps it was another one, was climbing at an angle. It took off. Virginsky tried to track it, but it disappeared against the glare from the window.

‘And what do I think?’ Porfiry crinkled his eyes as if he was going to wink.

‘That I have been reconciled with my father.’

‘Is that not the case?’

‘It may shock you to know, Porfiry Petrovich, that I have become a materialist.’

Porfiry lazily threw up his hands. It was an ironic gesture. ‘Please, you will have to do better than that if you want to shock me.’

‘An egoist, then.’

‘Ah, well. . what is to be done ?’

‘Exactly! I see that you understand me perfectly. You are referring to the novel by Chernyshevsky. Anyone who has read that book will know that any rational man will always act in accordance with that which is in his own best interests. I have consented to behave as though I am reconciled with my father because it is in my own best interests to do so. My father is in a position to help me achieve my ambition. It would be irrational of me to refuse to allow him to do so.’

‘And I’m sure your father is pleased to help you.’

‘That may be. But it is nothing to me. I am not interested in my father’s pleasure.’

‘Ah, but as a materialist, and a rationalist — and indeed as an exemplary egoist — if it pleases your father to be of service to you, then surely it is in your interest to increase your father’s pleasure.’

‘So far as it pertains to his being of service to me, and no further. You will accuse me of hypocrisy, no doubt?’

Porfiry pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes in a distinctly womanish gesture.

‘You may be assured that I have accused myself of the same crime,’ continued Virginsky. ‘After considering the matter fully, I realised that I cannot be a hypocrite because I am aware of the hypocrisy involved. A genuine hypocrite is blind to his hypocrisy. He believes that he acts in an upright and indeed honourable way at all times, while in reality pursuing his own interests.’

‘You have acquitted yourself then? Perhaps you should consider a career as a defence lawyer instead? Was that not once your intention? ’

Virginsky half-closed his eyes, acknowledging the jibe. ‘What further acquits me of this charge is the fact that I have not entered upon this course, to become an investigating magistrate, for my own pleasure. But rather for the benefit of society as a whole. The occupation will undoubtedly be a burden for me, involving onerous and unpleasant tasks for little recompense. However, I will persevere with it — have no fear on that front, Porfiry Petrovich. And I will do so, as I say, because of the benefits accruing to society as a whole. In acting in this way I am nevertheless behaving as an egoist. I have realised that the thing that will give me personally the greatest pleasure is for society to be organised along more just lines. Such must be the goal of any sane and rational man. I admit, I do not need a legal background, or a job in the Department of Justice, to assist in bringing this about. I need. .’ Virginsky broke off and considered his words. He saw Porfiry looking at him with amusement. ‘I need other materials for that. However, the skills of an investigator will help me, at some future date, when society has begun to be organised in the manner I have indicated, to root out and bring to justice those guilty of the greatest crimes against their fellow men. In the meantime it will satisfy me to prosecute ordinary criminals and to acquire the skills I will need, when. .’ Again Virginsky broke off. ‘When the time comes,’ he concluded, avoiding Porfiry’s eyes now.

‘Well,’ said Porfiry with a broad smile. ‘I hope that it will. . satisfy you.’ He stressed the word ironically.

Virginsky bristled. ‘You do not take me seriously.’

‘Oh but I do.’

‘Then you are embarrassed by what I have said? You think I am sincere, but foolish?’

‘It is not that either.’ Porfiry Petrovich held Virginsky’s gaze sternly. ‘May I give you a word of advice, my young friend? Do not ever speak in the way you have just spoken to anyone else here. Indeed, I would advise you to give up such a mode of discourse entirely. You are a servant of His Imperial Majesty now, no longer merely his subject — his servant , understand. You are employed in the Department of Justice. Justice here is not an abstract concept. It is the Tsar’s justice. It is the Tsar’s laws we are upholding. And it is those who break the Tsar’s laws — the Tsar’s enemies in effect — whom we are to hunt down and prosecute. Besides, you are surrounded by policemen. It is most unwise to talk of society being organised along different lines. There are those who would construe it as seditious.’

‘Are you one of them, Porfiry Petrovich?’

‘What a question! Please, Pavel Pavlovich. You cannot ask me such questions.’ Porfiry began to cough. ‘Really! The stench in here is insufferable! I cannot open the window, because the smell outside is worse. And there is the noise of the workmen in the street. How am I expected to think?’

‘It is the effluence in the canal. Raw sewage flowing in an open drain. A society organised along just lines would not tolerate such a circumstance.’

Porfiry did not take the trouble to remonstrate with him. ‘I sent a letter. Nothing has come of it.’

‘At any rate,’ began Virginsky with a shy, sarcastic smile, ‘as loyal subjects and dedicated servants, we should be thankful that the Tsar at least is safely removed from such noxious hazards. Indeed it is gratifying to know that anyone who has sufficient wealth and leisure may take themselves away from the city when such dangers are most prevalent.’ Making this final remark, Virginsky couldn’t prevent himself from blushing self-consciously.

‘At least you had the decency to look abashed,’ commented Porfiry. ‘However, I must warn you against sarcasm too, Pavel Pavlovich. It is not an endearing habit. Policemen in particular do not like to feel themselves ridiculed. You will find that you will need the cooperation and, indeed, the goodwill of policemen. You would do well to make yourself amenable to them.’

‘That will be difficult for me. You forget that I have been manhandled by policemen. I do not have pleasant memories of my period of incarceration.’